Chieftain (14 page)

On the surface, she appeared the dutiful wife, but Drummond saw past her civility; underneath she was angry enough to slap his face. She wouldn’t, though, for she was scared to her soul that he’d take Alasdair away.

“Your wish is my command, my lord.”

Guilt nudged Drummond, but he paid no mind. She had been unfaithful once, she could do so again. Should that occur, Drummond would make certain Alasdair did not witness her shame or pay the price.

He watched her speak again to their guests, then start up the steep steps leading to the keep, her back as stiff and straight as a new lance. Out of the corner of his eye, Drummond saw Alasdair skipping across the yard toward them, his face alive with youthful exuberance. The lad skidded to a halt a few feet from Douglas, then gave him a wide berth.

Drummond was reminded of himself and his siblings when in the presence of their father and the other Highland chieftains.

“Good day, sir. Father’s going to buy me one of your fine horses.”

Douglas completely ignored the lad.

Drummond, too, had expected Alasdair to speak only when addressed, for that was the way lads his age were treated. Seeing it happen to his own son, however, gave Drummond a prejudiced view of the practice. Douglas could have at least acknowledged the lad.

“Alasdair,” said the sheriff. “I’ve brought you something.” From a pouch on his saddle, Ramsay Hay produced a package wrapped in oilskin. He handed it to Alasdair, who fairly beamed. “Thank you, Sheriff. Did you know that I’m getting a set of armor and a—?” He glanced cautiously at Douglas. “A horse.”

Unabashed affection shone on Hay’s face. He laid his hand on Alasdair’s shoulder and said, “You’ll make a fine knight, lad. Your father’s a bit of a legend in that regard.” Looking up, he caught Drummond’s eye.

Drummond saw acceptance and sadness in the sheriff’s expression. He remembered what Clare had said:
Sheriff Hay is a delightful fellow, and if you would but try to engage a friendship, I think you will admirably succeed.
Knowing it now for a fact, Drummond smiled.

With a slight nod, the sheriff dropped his hand and stepped back. Alasdair ambled off, pretending great interest in the book. Drummond suspected that the lad was confused and his feelings hurt. Knowing this couldn’t be the first time, Drummond lamented the years in prison; Alasdair had needed him.

Turning to Hay, he said, “Go with Douglas to the alehouse and tell the barkeep to tap a laird’s keg. I’ll meet you there.”

Drummond moved in the opposite direction. He caught up with Alasdair near the well. Pulling him aside, he said, “That’s a very fine book.”

He rolled it over in his hands and continued to stare at his feet. “Aye.”

The words “a good parent” flashed in Drummond’s mind, and he understood what his wife had meant. Carrying out his responsibility to Alasdair posed a challenge, for he knew not where to start. He squatted so they were eye to eye. “You like the sheriff.”

“Aye, he taught me to piss off the curtain—” He stopped. “Oh, I told you that story already. Mother says I’m not to repeat myself, especially to you.”

“You worry too much, Son. What else does your mother say?”

“That you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a lad, and when I’m as old as you, I’ll wish I was still making mischief. Do you?”

“On occasion, especially when there’s a custard about.”

“You like custards, too?”

Drummond made a great show of licking his lips. “More than you know.”

“Mother says I used to yap like a puppy for custards.”

“Came from me, most probably.”

His eyes glazed with pleasure. “You did that?”

To his own surprise, Drummond threw back his head and yipped.

Alasdair roared with laughter. “I look like you, too.”

“You’re a limb off the mighty Macqueen tree.”

“Truly? Tell me about my grandfather. Do I have hundreds of uncles and cousins? Will I be as good at soldiering as they are?”

“We’ll discuss it at length tonight, should you want to sleep in my bed.”

“Hoorah!” As quickly, his expression fell. “Mother will sleep in my bed again?”

“Aye.”

“I saw her kissing you. Does that mean you’re not a beef-witted troll anymore?”

“Did she call me that?”

“You made her very angry.”

“Do you know why?”

He replied that he could say nothing more on the matter. “I gave her my oath, do you see.”

Bertie, too, had influenced Alasdair, for the lad copied the man’s speech. “Then you must keep your word; ’tis the honorable thing.”

“Aye, sir. A Macqueen must always be constant and faithful.”

It was the motto of Clan Macqueen. “Did your mother tell you that?”

“Nay. Sheriff Hay found out about it for me.”

So, thought Drummond, Clare couldn’t be bothered to educate Alasdair. Look for flaws and you will find them. He was guilty of both. “You must thank the sheriff warmly at table tonight.”

Drummond’s astounded son clutched the book to his chest. “I can sup at the table with Red Douglas there?”

Had Clare allowed the slight? Another flaw. Douglas would pay the lad no mind, but that wasn’t Alasdair’s fault. Old habits rule men like Red Douglas; they had once ruled Drummond, but he vowed never again to carelessly disregard Alasdair’s feelings. “Aye, Son. You’ll sit between your mother and me.”

Alasdair scampered off. Drummond thought of a way to celebrate Alasdair’s first meal with the overlord. He went to the cutler’s shop, then hurried to the alehouse. No sooner had he taken the first swallow from his tankard than Douglas said, “I expect your oath of fealty, Macqueen.”

He had the right to expect allegiance; Drummond would have thought less of him had he not demanded his due. But before he went down on his knee to a marcher lord, Drummond would have to reconcile his Highland loyalties. If Douglas were smart, he’d pick a more insistent matter on which to take a stand.

To pacify the man, Drummond held up his tankard in salute. “We’ll come in a fortnight for Alasdair’s horse.”

“In October, the king comes for the salmon. Make it then.”

He was probably conniving to have Drummond swear fealty to Edward II, too, or at the least have a royal witness. Then later, if Drummond went against the king, Douglas would not be held responsible. Watching his back, as Drummond’s father used to say. “I favor a go at the salmon myself.”

Douglas nodded, half his attention on the maid tending tables. “’Twill wait.”

Drummond broached the subject of the field pledged to Douglas.

The overlord scratched his shoulder. “’Tis a matter agreed and done.”

“In lieu of the funds Clare borrowed to build the chapel, she agreed to give you one-third of the grain from a given field. The land has been overprosperous, and you have taken advantage of her.”

“A bargain is a bargain.”

“We’ll not give you another grain on account of the loan. ’Tis paid and more.”

“I also gift her with a beef every Michaelmas.”

“You may keep it. Henceforth, we will raise our own.”

“I have a fine bull, if you’re interested.” He spoke to Drummond but his attention kept straying to the serving girl.

“Thank you, nay. I’m importing fresh stock from Spain.”

“Will your clansmen be bringing the beasts?”

Was he worried? Odds were he knew more about the comings and goings of Clan Macqueen than Drummond did. “My kinsmen do as they may.”

“There’s trouble with Clan Chapling. That young laird Revas Macduff thinks to claim the sword.”

Clan Chapling was a mighty alliance of Highland clans. United, they presented a formidable defense. Edward I had dissolved the union. His son’s indifference toward Scotland had obviously allowed the Highlands to consider uniting again. Drummond knew little about Macduff; the Macgillivray clan had always claimed leadership of Chapling. “Revas Macduff will have to claim his bride first.” And Drummond knew precisely where to find the lass, Meridene. He’d wager his sword arm that Macduff did not know where Edward I had hidden her.

The serving maid sauntered over to refill their mugs. She’d unlaced her bliaud, and the garment fell open almost to her tightly belted waist. Stopping near Douglas, she put her hands on her hips and swayed from side to side. “Yer lookin’ fit, milord.”

“Fit enough to put a twinkle in your eye, Meg.” In an odd sort of surrender, he slammed coin down on the table. “Have Jake tap a Douglas keg, and don’t expect me for Vespers.” Then he led the smiling girl through the side door.

Hay chuckled. “He supports his by-blows.”

“Would that all overlords did,” Drummond said.

“My lord, I know of a ship’s captain who harbors in Maryport and plies the Orkney trade. He could bring news of your clan and not pass it on to everyone he met.”

If Hay was offering to get news from the Highlands, then he knew Drummond hadn’t been hiding out there for seven years. “You knew I was alive.”

The sheriff huffed. “I’d never set eyes on you, dead or alive.”

“So you let Clare and Alasdair think me dead.”

“She’d already grieved. The king should have hanged you. Why break her heart again?”

A steely calm stiffened Drummond’s spine. “Tell me about her grief.”

“She had no family left, except Alasdair, and he was still suckling a wet nurse.”

Drummond had always thought her as close as sisters to the other two girls at the abbey. She had called Johanna and Meridene her family. Or had the then Prince Edward turned her out? Had she mourned the loss of her royal lover rather than her lawful husband?

But Edward could wait; Drummond had Ramsey Hay to deal with now. “You no doubt extended your sympathies?”

“She’s a decent woman, Macqueen, and yes, I’d have her.”

“If you
have
had her I could beat you to porridge and every man here would sing hosannahs to my name.”

“She has not dishonored you.”

Drummond laughed.

“Shall I employ the ship’s captain on your behalf?”

“I could send a messenger and find out for myself.”

“Certainly you could, and when and if the king moves against the Highlanders again, what will you do?”

Drummond hoped to be fighting shoulder to shoulder with his kinsmen should that happen, but Hay needn’t know that. “I should rely on gossip?”

Hay emptied the tankard and tapped it on the wooden table. “You’re outlawed and forbidden any contact with your clan.”

Drummond grew uneasy; he had hoped to keep the stipulations of his release a secret. “How did you know that?”

“’Tis my business to know, and only mine. I’m certain Lady Clare does not know.”

“She’s hardly a chatterbox where I’m concerned.”

“She thought you dead. I heard the old king even sent your body home to your kinsmen in parts.”

Drummond couldn’t help thinking about his stepmother. She would accept his fate and go on with her life, but not out of any avarice toward him; it was Highland custom. He thought about Clare and how fiercely she protected Alasdair. A good parent.

“Have I broached an unhappy subject, my lord?”

“Nay. By order of Edward the Second, the Highlands are forbidden to me. Should I choose to travel elsewhere, Sheriff, I’ll not leave my wife or any other of my possessions to your tender mercies.” Drummond would return to the Highlands someday, but he would keep his plans to himself.

Hay reddened and ground his teeth. “Worry not about my tender mercies. Since you doubt me, ask Sween Handle.”

“I’m sending Sween to Spain.”

“For the cattle?”

“Aye.”

“Glory’ll wish him farewell, pout until he returns, then give him her back for leaving in the first place.”

“What causes their quarrels?”

“Ask Lady Clare.”

“Is she involved?”

“Hardly. It’s a tale better told by a woman, and who spins better yarns than Lady Clare?”

Drummond doubted he’d ever hear the story, for his wife certainly wanted nothing to do with him. What a fool he’d been for refusing her offer to share his bed. Look for flaws and you’ll find them. Her correct assessment of his methods made Drummond uncomfortable, so he changed the subject. “My lady took the law into her own hands in your absence.”

“Was the miller slighting the weights again?”

“Nay.” Drummond told him about Elton Singer.

“I thought we’d shielded Lady Clare from his ilk. How did she ever learn of it?”

Drummond gritted his teeth against the guilt, for had he not bruised her, she would not have recognized Singer for a wife beater. “I cannot say.”

“Where was Sween?” Hay asked.

“He’s innocent. She told no one what she was about. What will you do about Elton Singer?”

Hay stared at the ceiling. “Nothing. I have no grounds. And I will not invent one for any price. Even if I did, Maggie would lie for him.”

So, Hay was as honest as Clare had said. “Then I’ll insist that they move to the village.”

Hay took off his chain of office and put it on the table. He would not compromise his office, so he’d momentarily abandoned it. “How will you manage that?”

“I’ll make living here so appealing, Singer will come willingly.”

“And if he does not?”

The exchange of information with another man on a leadership matter awakened a long-dormant need in Drummond. He’d grown up in the company of important men making vital decisions. He’d spent seven years where every decision vital to his life was made for him. “I’ll make the offer irresistible. Have you a comment?”

Hay tipped his head toward the barkeep. “Have Jake water down Singer’s ale and send him home, with an escort, before dark. That should help, my lord.”

Drummond’s respect for the sheriff trebled. “Macqueen will do.”

Hay again donned his chain. “Then Macqueen it is. Have I other criminals awaiting justice?”

“Two. A thief and a poacher.”

“Have you an opinion on either?”

“I’ll abide by yours.”

He nodded. “I’ll address them tomorrow. Who is the fellow with the red beard?”

“Morgan Fawr? He helps me care for Longfellow. When did you see him?”

“He was standing on the other side of the elephant when … uh … we arrived.”

“How long will you stay?”